


Listen Real Hard

by wesleysgirl



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goes AU during the S2 episode "Adam."<br/>Ianto runs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen Real Hard

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Katestamps, Ladybug218 and Twisted_reach for the betas and helpful suggestions.

Ianto runs.

It's not like him, not at all, but that's the whole point, isn't it? He isn't who he thought he was.

He leaves the Hub and takes a coach to London, trying -- and failing -- to get his bearings, then gets on a plane at Heathrow and goes west, in the direction of the setting sun. It's an overly dramatic notion, he's aware, to be chasing the sunlight as if, by doing so, he can avoid the darkness, but it's the best he can do just then. It feels as if his only other alternative -- despite Jack's attempts to reassure him -- is to die, and there's a part of him resisting that.

He's afraid to sleep, afraid of what he'll dream, but the caffeine can only keep his eyes open for so long. He slips into a nightmare somewhere over the Atlantic -- _squeezing the life out of that girl, Jack's lie detector and its green lights_ \-- and wakes drenched in a cold sweat, murmuring apologies to the older woman sitting beside him.

"That's all right," she says, but stops before patting his hand. It must be something on his face that warns her, he thinks.

He ends up in Baltimore, not even sure where he is until he checks into the hotel nearest the airport. They give him a room on the second floor. He's so exhausted he can barely stand; he find his way through the corridor to his room, locks the door behind him once he's inside, crawls onto the bed, and is instantly asleep. 

The sun is setting when Ianto wakes up, low and golden-orange on the horizon. He's filthy but can't bear the thought of getting into the shower; all that water washing down over him. He's hungry but can't get past the sharp, visceral memories of a different sort of hunger altogether.

For five days and nights he doesn't leave the hotel room, the 'do not disturb' sign on the door keeping the housekeepers at bay. He doesn't eat and drinks only water. He stays up all night, the television on to provide distraction, and sleeps when the sun is shining. 

On the sixth evening, he's sitting near the window, rocking back and forth slowly with his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees. He knows he has to end this -- he just hasn't sorted out how to do it yet. He should never have travelled to America. It would have been so much simpler in Cardiff. Here he's a stranger and it's more complicated. At the time, all he could think about was getting as far away as possible.

There must be a chemist's nearby. Even things he can buy without a prescription will be sufficient to put an end to this, surely. He just needs to keep it together long enough.

He doesn't know what time it is when he puts on his shoes. He's starting for the door when there's a knock. It's not the tentative knock of a housekeeper; it's more authoritative than that. It's a knock that expects to be answered.

When he looks through the peephole, he sees Jack standing on the other side of the door.

For a moment, Ianto forgets what it's like to breathe. _That would be convenient,_ he thinks dimly; it's not easy to set aside a lifetime of practicality even now. 

"Ianto," Jack says. "Let me in."

Should he even answer? Damn it. If he'd left five minutes sooner this could have been avoided. 

"Come on." Jack's using his persuasive voice. "You know me -- I'll stand out here all night if I have to, and I really don't think you want people wondering why I'm talking to your door."

Ianto couldn't care less what people think, but he knows he can't leave with Jack standing out there, and anyway Jack will find a way to open the door if Ianto doesn't do it.

He opens the door.

"You're not an easy man to find, Ianto Jones," Jack tells him.

"And yet here you are," Ianto says.

Jack looks at him steadily. "Going for a walk?"

"I was," Ianto says, in the way that means, _I suppose I won't be now._

But Jack surprises him. "I'll go with you," he says.

When they step outside into the darkness, it's raining. Ianto doesn't know if he can bear it -- he left Wales without a coat because the thought of wearing one brings that feeling over him again, the rush of adrenaline and sick, twisted lust he'd felt as he strangled that girl. It sweeps over him again now and he stops, gasping, reaching out blindly for the wall. He can feel the gloves on his hands, smell her sweet dying breath.

"Ianto?" Jack touches him and he jerks away, straightening. 

"You should have locked me up," Ianto says coldly, not meeting Jack's gaze. "You should have listened to me."

"You're wrong," Jack says. "This isn't something you did -- it's something that was done to you. None of it was real."

"Real enough," Ianto says. He starts walking again because it's imperative that he do _something_. 

Jack walks with him, beside him like a shadow. "You ran a long way," he observes finally.

"Not far enough," Ianto says.

Not yet.

There's a chemist's two blocks away. The sign out front says that it's open twenty-four hours a day. Convenient, that. There's an aisle with makeup and perfume quite near the entrance; Ianto stops for a moment as the scent hits him like another flashback, then continues on. 

"What are you looking for?" Jack asks.

"Headache remedy," Ianto says. Then, calculatedly, "And shampoo. Could you get some? It's the next aisle over, I think."

While Jack's gone, Ianto quickly pockets two bottles of sleeping pills. He doesn't have time to examine them too carefully, or to weigh the possible merits of one type over another, and he can't worry about whether he'll be caught trying to steal them. If this doesn't work, he'll find another way.

No one says a thing as he pays for the shampoo and what he hopes is the American equivalent of paracetamol at the cash register -- the girl who takes his credit card looks bored and half-asleep despite the paper cup of coffee beside the register. She doesn't even glance at his signature, just hands him the receipt and the bag, which Jack takes. 

"Thank you," Jack says, and Ianto realizes as they're stepping back out the door that the girl won't have even known he's a stranger here.

Back at the hotel, he fumbles with the key card and opens the door. As soon as they're in the room, Jack pushes him up against the wall with the length of his body. 

Feeling him like that is a shock; Ianto freezes. "What are you doing?" he asks hoarsely. It's difficult not to look into Jack's eyes when his face is right there, so close, but Ianto manages. Barely. He can feel Jack's arms at his sides, keeping him there.

He's so close -- so close to the edge, so close to breaking, so close to ending this.

"You have to listen to me," Jack says intently.

"Why?" Ianto says. He tries looking at Jack's mouth, but that's a mistake, so he settles on the outer curve of his ear. His clothes are damp, clinging to him.

"Because I need you to understand. I need you to believe me."

"There's nothing you can say that will change anything," Ianto tells him, keeping his voice flat. "You can't change what I've done."

"You didn't _do_ anything," Jack insists. 

"I did," Ianto says, and the misery of it slips into his voice. "I remember it, all of it. I'm not safe, Jack."

Jack shakes his head. "None of it was real. Adam made you think it was, but it wasn't. You didn't do any of those things -- whatever it is you think you're remembering, it's _not real_."

"Then why is it in my head?" Ianto shouts the words, shouts them and pushes Jack away from him. Jack stumbles, straightens, and Ianto's head is on fire, ready to explode. "It's there! I can feel it!"

"We're going to get it out," Jack says. He spreads his hands out at his sides placatingly, but it lets Ianto see what he's holding -- the two bottles of sleeping pills. Jack's eyes follow Ianto's. "Oops?"

"So it would seem," Ianto says flatly, trying not to feel anything at all.

"Well, it's really your fault," Jack says. "If you'd been wearing a coat, I wouldn't have been able to see these in your pockets." He shrugs out of his own, dropping it over a chair. More gently, he says, "You don't want to do this, Ianto. I know you, and I know this isn't what you want." He stands there holding the bottles, his forearms tense, the rest of him deceptively relaxed.

"But it is," Ianto says, holding out a hand. "Just... just give them to me. If you can't -- if you can't help me, just go and I'll do it myself. Please, Jack. I know I've asked a lot from you, and you haven't let me down yet. Just go and let me do what I have to."

Jack glares at him and throws both bottles into the bathroom, where they clatter and bounce on the tiled floor. "I can't."

"Of course you can," Ianto tells him. He shouldn't have to explain this. "It's easy. Just walk away."

"I won't," Jack says. "Listen to me." He steps closer. "I know how badly you must want to believe that it isn't true. There's got to be some... some little voice inside you, telling you it's a lie." Another step. " _Believe that voice_."

Ianto's hands are shaking, and he thinks he might be crying. He wants to believe Jack, but if it's all true, if his memories are real, then he's a danger to everyone around him. He doesn't think he can take that chance. "I can still --" he says, and has to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I can see their faces." He's whispering now. "I can hear their screaming. _I can smell their blood_."

"It's not real," Jack says, searching his eyes. "I swear it. It's a long story and I'll try to explain later, when you're able to hear it, but... please, Ianto. Trust me."

"I don't know what to do." That's a lie; he _does_ know what to do, what he should do, he's just too much a coward to do it. He feels trapped between the wall at his back and Jack in front of him, and he know the immovable object has no choice but to give way when faced with Jack Harkness's irresistible force. It's embarrassingly easy to speak the words. "Help me."

And then Jack's arms are around him, keeping him from falling apart, and Ianto holds on tightly, his fingers digging into Jack's arm. "It's okay," Jack says. "It's all going to be okay, I promise." 

All of Ianto's strength goes out of him, and Jack lowers him to the floor where they can both lean against the wall, Ianto awkwardly between Jack's thighs. Jack rocks them, back and forth, back and forth. It's soothing, something Ianto can count on. He presses his face to Jack's throat. Jack's hand strokes his hair.

After a long time, Jack says, "You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

"No." Ianto sighs and runs his fingers along the front of Jack's shirt, toying with the buttons.

"What are you thinking?" Jack asks.

"Nothing," Ianto says.

"Uh-uh," Jack tells him. "You don't get to pull that one. What?"

Ianto closes his eyes. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

"Well, here I am," Jack says. He lifts Ianto's face with one hand and kisses him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know. Too long." His stomach's been twisted into knots for what feels like forever.

Jack gets them upright, no small feat, and gives him a serious look. "Can I trust you to take a shower while I get us some food?"

Ianto knows what he's asking. "Yes," he says, and he goes to retrieve the bottles of pills from the bathroom, setting them on the table next to the bed where Jack can see them, before he turns on the water. He intends to shower quickly but Jack comes in and joins him. There's not a bit of Ianto's body that's capable of sex just then; the comfort of Jack's bare skin against his means more.

"I've never seen you with this much facial hair," Jack observes, rubbing a soapy thumb along Ianto's jaw. "I like it."

It makes him look, Ianto thinks, like someone who's been locked up with his lover for a week, surfacing only to eat when necessary. He wishes that's what he'd been doing.

"You're going to have something to eat," Jack tells him, holding his face in strong hands. "And then I'm going to take it all away. Okay? I'm going to fix it."

Ianto's eyes fill with tears. He blinks them away quickly, hoping that Jack won't see them and comment, and rests his chin on Jack's shoulder as the other man wraps both arms around him. The thought that he could stop being _this_ , this hideous monster...

Food arrives from the hotel's restaurant, sandwiches slapped together by some eighteen year old with spots on his face, probably. Jack slips on his trousers and answers the door while Ianto's still in the bathroom realizing that he can't put the clothes he's been wearing for the past week back on, creased and stale-smelling as they are. He gives up and goes out in a towel once the delivery person's gone.

"I feel overdressed," Jack says, smiling at him.

Ianto still isn't hungry, can't manage to eat much. He sits cross-legged on the end of the bed in his towel. Jack sits beside him, one hand stroking along his bare side and back as he eats. Occasionally, Jack touches his hair, his ear, his thigh. By the time Ianto sets aside the remainder of the sandwich, Jack's touches have become necessary, grounding.

Jack opens his other hand, the other that's been resting on his knee, and shows Ianto a small white pill. "Take this," he says, eyes soft and almost pleading, and Ianto does, without question. Lifts it from Jack's palm and swallows it with a sip of melted ice mixed with fizzy drink.

All he has to do now is wait.

"Come here," Jack says, and they settle into a comfortable tangle on the bed. Jack's wearing only his trousers, and Ianto is naked. Jack pulls the covers up over them and kisses Ianto's hair, hand stroking along Ianto's hip.

"I don't think --" Ianto starts.

"Shh," Jack hushes him. "Don't even try. Just close your eyes."

Ianto yawns even though it's too soon for the Retcon to be doing its job. 

"When you wake up, we'll go home," Jack says. His voice is soft and soothing.

"How much will I forget?" Ianto asks.

"As much as you need to," Jack says. "Don't worry about it; it's all taken care of."

Ianto snorts.

"What, you don't trust me?" Jack tries to make it sound as if he's hurt, which he's not. When Jack's actually hurt, he goes all stiff and proper and cold, like an invisible wall has suddenly dropped down around him.

"I do trust you," Ianto says.

"Oh, that's right," Jack says. "Telling you not to worry is like asking the sea to stop being blue."

"It might, someday." Ianto surreptitiously inhales the scent of Jack's skin, which is more soap than anything else just then. He likes it better when Jack smells like Jack. "Global warming, pollution..."

"Oh, you have no idea," Jack says, then goes quiet, and Ianto knows he's remembering something that hasn't even happened yet. A moment later Jack seems to pull himself together. "Warm enough?"

"Mm," Ianto manages.

Jack's hand moves slowly along his shoulder. "When you wake up, it'll all be okay."

Ianto mumbles something in reply; even he's not sure what it is. Hope, perhaps.

"Sleeping beauty," Jack says fondly, and Ianto closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration from "Raining in Baltimore" by Counting Crows.
> 
> _There's things I remember and things I forget_  
>  I miss you I guess that I should  
> Three thousand five hundred miles away  
> But what would you change if you could? 


End file.
